


Of a Certain Type of Cookie

by SentientSliceofToast



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, also stanley is a reluctant parent, and dont ask me why i made bill a prosecutor ok, but i had fun writing this so thanks, dont judge me, he'll never admit it tho, i hope ur reading it anon, im not overly fond of human bill aus, so... this is for a request i got from an anon on tumblr, yes its out of character but i can do whatever i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29571777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentientSliceofToast/pseuds/SentientSliceofToast
Summary: Bill doesn't know how to drive. Or, at least, he doesn't want to know how to drive.Well, Stanley thinks. He's gotta learn somehow.
Relationships: Mabel Pines & Bill Cipher, Stanford Pines & Dipper Pines, stanley pines & bill cipher
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Of a Certain Type of Cookie

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the tags, I got a request for this from an anon on Tumblr. Once again, I just don't really like even the concept of human Bill, but this was fun. Also my first attempt at writing comedy, so any feedback would be very appreciated.

Everyone in the Mystery Shack (except for Bill, obviously) knows the rule.

Bill + vehicle = bad.

It’s unspoken, of course, but Mabel’s account of Bill’s first (and only, thankfully) attempt at driving has everyone convinced. The story had involved stolen cars, cliffs, deer, and top hats falling over eyes.

Is that Mustang still submerged in that lake, by the way?

It hadn’t really made that much of a difference, until Bill had gotten a _job_. Life had just been going on as normal, when suddenly Bill was on live TV at the Oregon state courthouse.

What on earth possessed Bill to become a _prosecutor_ , none of them knew. What’s funny is that he’s hilariously _good_ at it. Hasn’t lost a case since he started, in fact.

His problem, though, is that he’s almost always late to his cases, the reason being that he can’t drive.

That’s where Stanley comes in.

It’s not as if he _likes_ him, far from it, rather, Bill _has_ to learn some time, and no-one’s-gonna-teach-im-if-I-don’t-seriously-what-is-the-world-coming-to-our-insane-dream-demons-that-somehow-got-human-bodies-can’t-even-drive-I-demand-an-audience-with-whoever’s-running-this-place-what-are-you-thinking-

And so forth.

With that resolution made, Stanley finally manages to corner the little freak when he’s visiting the Mystery Shack ~~for Mabel and Dipper’s birthday~~ for no reason at all. It then strikes him that he has absolutely _no_ idea how to go about actually doing what he’s proposed. How does one tell the all-knowing dream demon “I’m gonna teach you how to drive”?

Time to take the patented Stanley Pines approach.

“You’re coming with me,” Stanley says, ~~punching~~ _patting_ Bill over the back.

“…coming _where_?” Bill asks suspiciously, wondering if Stanley’s gesture is going to leave a bruise. “I swear to the Axolotl if this is anything like the time you kidnapped me and forced me help you cheat at gambling I-”

“I’m gonna teach you how to _drive_ , dummy,” Stanley replies, wondering why Bill’s taking an oath by the amphibian that’s currently swimming around in his fish tank.

…how is that thing still alive, anyway?

“ _Oh_ no,” Bill says, making as if to leave. “that is the _last_ thing I would _ever_ -”

“You don’t get a choice,” Stanley grunts, and tugs him back by his collar.

If someone had told Stanley, thirty years ago, that in the future he’d be dragging an irate, protesting dream demon to his car while the other inhabitants of the Mystery Shack looked on with interest, (and visible concern) he would never have believed them.

Well, here he is. Life is full of surprises, apparently.

When they finally reach the vehicle, Stanley shoves the brat into the backseat and slams the door after him, then takes his place behind the wheel.

“You can’t _kidnap_ me, Stanley,” Bill threatens, then jerks sideways to stare at the door, eyes wide. “What-”

“Child safety lock,” Stanley interrupts with satisfaction. “Also demon safety lock, apparently.”

Bill glares at him, then switches his tactics.

“Stanley, I don’t _need_ to know how to drive,” He pleads.

“Yeah, you do,” Stanley says. “If you ever wanna get out of the Mystery Shack’s bathroom, anyway.”

Bill rolls his eyes. “I have a solid career, Stanley.”

“Keep puttin’ this off and ya won’t.”

Bill opens his mouth, then closes it, thinking.

“You know that I don’t have to do _anything_ you say, right?” He says finally, unable to refute the former statement.

Stanley sighs, facepalming.

“Look, cooperate for _just_ this once and, uh, I’ll get you cookies or something, okay?” He pleads.

Bill’s eyes narrow, and he fixes his eyes on Stanley.

“Oatmeal raisin?” he asks carefully.

It takes all of Stanley’s willpower _not_ to tell him that he’s sounding like a literal five-year-old, and he decides to focus on Bill’s _horrible_ taste.

“How do you _eat_ those things?” Stanley asks, shuddering. “I mean, I knew you were crazy, but I didn’t think you were _that_ crazy.”

“Trust me, Stanley,” Bill says condescendingly. “One day you’ll all understand.”

“When hell freezes over, maybe.”

Bill smirks. “Hell _has_ frozen over. I totaled that dimension a couple million years ago.”

Stanley sighs.

“Of course you did.”

********************

Thankfully, the parking lot Stanley manages to find _is_ relatively empty, apart from one or two cars on the far end. That doesn’t assuage any of Stanley’s fear, of course. Though he doesn’t doubt that Bill _can_ drive, he does doubt, rather a lot, in fact, that Bill _will_ drive.

But, heck, you never get anywhere if you don’t take chances.

“Right,” Stanley says, parking the car. “Take a look around. I’m just gonna tell you beforehand that if you bang up this car I _will_ send you to the ranch.”

Bill scoffs. “You put a car in _my_ hands and then tell me not to wreck it? And here I thought _I_ was insane.”

“Cookies,” Stanley reminds. “Now get up here.”

He scoots over to passenger seat, and Bill, sulking, clambers up to the wheel.

“Alright, trooper, pay attention to the gear shift,” Stanley begins, pointing to the stick.

“Don’t _ever_ call me that again,” Bill says.

Stanley ignores this and continues.

“I’m gonna assume you know that hitting the gas makes it move, since you single-handedly landed a yellow Mustang at the bottom of a lake-”

“It was _not_ single-handedly,” Bill protests. “That deer got in the way.”

“Whatever,” Stanley says, rolling his eyes. “But, uh, the car won’t go if the gear shift is set to P – which means “park” by the way – and-”

“What do those other letters stand for?” Bill asks.

“Uh, N stands for neutral – I think, and-”

“Well _that_ ’ _s_ pointless,” Bill snorts.

“Hey, _I_ didn’t design the car,” Stanley says. “Take it up with the manufacturer, and gimme a break.”

“’Kay,” Bill says, and reaches for the door handle.

“N-no, not _literally_ , _ugh_ ,” Stanley says, facepalming. “Just _listen_ , will you?”

“No,” Bill says contentedly, and Stanley rolls his eyes yet again.

“Uh, anyway, the car won’t go if it’s set to P, even if you hit the gas pedal, so if you wanna move you just gotta switch the stick to D, which means “drive”. And then R means reverse – this kinda goes without saying but that makes you go backwards, and… yeah. Remember that stuff.”

“L meaning…” Bill prompts.

“Uh… low,” Stanley replies.

“What does that do?” Bill asks skeptically.

“Makes you drive slower,” Stanley replies.

“Well, I won’t need that,” Bill says cheerfully. “So, what, can we leave now?”

“Nope,” Stanley grunts, and Bill groans.

“What _now_?”

“Well you gotta actually _use_ the thing, you stupid demon,” Stanley says. “Y’know, show me you know how.”

“Why?”

“You’re walking a pretty thin line if you still want those cookies.”

“ _Jerk_.”

Stanley grinds his palms into his eyes, wondering why on earth he’s even still trying at this point.

“Just switch it to drive, alright? That’s all ya gotta do for now.”

Bill shrugs nonchalantly and shifts the gears, looking at Stanley expectantly.

“Watcha lookin’ at me for? Just _drive_. Y’know what, pretend, like, the road is the face of someone ya don’t like, or something like that. I’m sure there are a lot of those.”

“Righto,” Bill says, surveying the stretch of asphalt in front of him. “Stanley Pines’ face, prepare to be disfigured.”

“I bet I could punt you across this parking lot.”

Bill ignores this and proceeds to smash his foot on the gas pedal. The car leaps forward with impressive speed, hurling both of them back against their seats. Stanley yelps.

“Wha- nonono, hit the _brakes_ you idiot before you-”

The car barrels into a trash bin, which is, admittedly, better than the building or (heaven forbid) another _car_ , but still pretty bad.

Stanley, whose eyes are squeezed tightly shut, groans.

“That had better have been the trash can.”

“Nope, it was the really expensive sports car,” Bill says, glancing at the wreckage with interest.

Stanley jerks forward, panic displayed all over his features. “Wait, really?”

Bill snorts. “Nah, it was the trash can.” He suddenly looks pensive. “Uh, the headlights are busted and there’s a massive dent in the hood but c’mon, it can still _run_ … I think.”

“It had better,” Stanley growls.

Bill pushes down lightly on the gas pedal a few times in experiment, then looks satisfied.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“’Kay,” Stanley says, then forcibly removes Bill from the driver’s seat. “You are _not_ driving us home.”

“Oh thank the Axolotl,” Bill says. “It’s over.”

“We’re _not_ letting this go,” Stanley warns, then glances fearfully at the store window. “But, uh, I think we might have to make this, uh, a hit and run kinda thing.”

“ _Stanley_ ,” Bill begins, upon noticing a lady staring at them through the glass.

“Yeah, I know,” Stanley says, then screeches out of the parking lot at the speed of sound.

They continue in silence for a few minutes, until Bill speaks up.

“You had better have been serious about those cookies.”

“You _destroyed_ my car.” Stanley says through gritted teeth, tightening his grip on the wheel. “ _Absolutely_ not.”

Bill opens his mouth, eyes narrowed, and Stanley, through sheer exhaustion, caves.

“Fine. Keep your hair on.”

Bill smirks triumphantly, and Stanley sighs.

Why does he even bother with this kid?

********************

They return to the Shack fifteen minutes later, and find Stanford and Dipper playing cards. Mabel’s knitting, of course, as she’d sworn off playing cards with Stanford and Dipper because they always caught her when she cheated. Bill knew when she was, also, but didn’t care enough to stop her, and Stanley was always too busy doing the same thing to pay any attention.

Stanford opens his mouth, then pauses as Bill saunters across the room, a box of (oatmeal raisin) cookies under his arm.

Mabel’s jaw drops.

“Bill Cipher, you had better be sharing!” she calls as she throws down her knitting and chases after him. “You know those are my favorite!”

Stanley shakes his head in disgust, and plops down on the couch with a sigh of relief.

“My own flesh and blood eats _oatmeal raisin_ cookies. I’m ashamed.”

“They’re really quite enjoyable, actually,” Stanford comments, and Stanley looks aghast.

“You _hated_ those when you were a kid,” he says.

“Only because _you_ hated them,” Stanford replies. “If I recall correctly, you told me that I would be dead to you if I so much as went near one.”

“Yeah, and I still hold by that policy,” Stanley grunts. “ _Oatmeal raisin cookies…_ Dipper, tell me _you_ , at least, haven’t gone over to the dark side.”

“Nah, they’re disgusting,” Dipper says, placing a card down on the table. “Your turn, Grunkle Ford. Oh, by the way, did the car manage to stay _above_ the water this time?”

“Yep,” Stanley says. “Everything went _just_ fine.”

Stanford senses something different in his brother’s voice, and turns to face him, eyes narrowed.

“Stanley,” he says slowly. “What did you do to the car?”

“Nothing!” Stanley replies defensively. “Sure-it-might-have-gotten-a-little-banged-up-but-I-mean-c’mon-it-still-works-and-besides-you-can’t-expect-everything-to-be-smooth-sailing-on-their-first-try-seriously-Stanford-I-”

Stanford sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he turns back to the game.

“Well, Dipper, my boy, you owe me ten dollars,” he says wearily.

“Grunkle Stan, can I borrow-”

“Not a chance.”

“Dang it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kay anon, hope you liked it.  
> Comments make me VERY happy.  
> Cross-posted on Tumblr.


End file.
